Il me semble que je serais toujours bien là où je ne suis pas -Baudelaire, “Les Fleurs du Mal”
(it seems to me that i am always happiest in the place where i am not)
the place where i am not, the place where i am out of my skin, out of my mind, the place where i stand indivisible and without a sound, where i have forgotten every step of this life, every crack of every sidewalk i’ve tread upon, every playground i’ve broken a bone, every school whose windows i’ve broken, every pool i’ve almost drowned in, every store i’ve stolen from, every subway car i’ve pissed in, every liquor slicked barroom floor i’ve slipped on, every concert stage that i’ve thrown up on, every house i’ve snuck into, every bedroom i’ve past out in, every car i’ve gotten into too drunk to drive, none of it, all of it, some where i used to belong to, any place where none of it has ever left me.